


So Darling, Save the Last Dance for Me

by tplink



Series: So Darling, Save the Last Dance for Me [1]
Category: Dragon Quest Series, Dragon Quest XI
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Autistic Character, Childhood Trauma, Coming Out, Emotionally Repressed, Father Figures, Introspection, Loss of Family and Culture, M/M, Mostly Canon Compliant, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:28:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26899687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tplink/pseuds/tplink
Summary: He remembered the way that they danced in Zwaardsrust. But the flashes of fire illuminated through a locked door, the echoes of terrified screams, and the quiet that followed soon after? That was something that Hendrik could never forget.Or, a look at Hendrik through the ages.
Relationships: Graig | Hendrik/Sylvia | Sylvando (Dragon Quest XI)
Series: So Darling, Save the Last Dance for Me [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2127408
Comments: 45
Kudos: 57





	1. Blank Slate

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again. Here is the start of something I have been trying to write for a couple of weeks now, some of it was very cathartic. Mostly I just wanted an excuse to write more Hendrik. And Sylvando, the king of the universe and my heart, is also in this. Sylvendrik is a hidden gem, tbh.
> 
> Some parts were beta read by my beautiful wife doperperson. And I have to give credit to a lot of the characterization being inspired by the character book, as well as translations of the voice dramas done by kamyuris on twitter. Also, disclaimer that the español is spoken in a Puerto Rican dialect, because that’s what I know lolz.
> 
> Thanks for dropping in.

Hendrik did not like to dance. His father used to take him to the farmers festivals in Zwaardsrust, in the small but bustling and vibrant town that once surrounded a grand castle and had served as his home during the earliest years of his life.

The beauty, the warmth of those celebrations was something that could not aptly be described with mere words, and surely even the craftsmanship performed by the most gifted of wordsmiths would fail to illustrate the beauty of his old country. Indeed, it had to be experienced firsthand, and Hendrik was one of the scant few left in Erdrea that could truly remember Zwaardsrust for what it had been. He could look past the empty fields, the scattered remains, the crumpled buildings, and recall with shining eyes the splendor of his kingdom.

As beautiful as Zwaardsrust had been on the outside, what he remembered the most were his people, his family. The moment his leaf had bloomed on the World Tree, Hendrik knew that he had been blessed; born to a loving mother and father, and accompanied by three older sisters that would not have missed a chance to dote over their only little brother for anything in the world.

At those festivals, when Hendrik was still too small and uncoordinated to dance on his own, Father would hold onto his arms and guide him along every step and motion, with a delicateness that he spared only for his beloved children. For the rare times that he was not on a battlefield. Hendrik could still recall with vivid detail the way that his father‘s hands dwarfed his own in comparison. Powerful and strong, like every knight should be, but gentle and kind when he cradled his small son, as if he were holding the entire world in his hands.

There was not much but he could still recall from before that time. Even now, as much as he willed otherwise, his father’s visage had become a blur over the years. Wrinkles and freckles from a life spent under the yellow Drustian sun, that once greeted Hendrik every time he looked up at his parents faces had become unrecognizable as life continued on without them. That scar on Father’s brow, had it been on the left side or the right? What color had Mother’s eyes been again? The answers eluded him, refused to resurface. Their silhouettes were now but a white blur shined mercilessly on by a light that could not be blotted out. It did not matter how much Hendrik pleaded, cried, or begged for them to return. 

For many years after the fact, more than anything, he beseeched Yggdrasil to let them stay just a little while longer. For one more dance. All he wanted was one more dance.

Hendrik did not like to dance. 

Something that had once brought him such joy, to watch his parents dance together, and join in with his sisters with fits of laughter and bright eyed, innocent smiles. Now? It only served as a painful reminder of all of the things that were lost to him. His family, his friends, his home, all reduced to nothing but ash and memories. And like the remnants of his lost country, those memories were only doomed to be scattered and carried off in a cruel breeze. Leaving nothing in their wake but Hendrik, alone.

He remembered the way that they danced in Zwaardsrust. But the flashes of fire illuminated through a locked door, the echoes of terrified screams, and the quiet that followed soon after? That was something that Hendrik could never forget.

Hendrik did not like to dance.

He was pulled from the rubble of his old home, out from the basement that had served as the only barrier between Hendrik and an assured death, and taken in by the knights of Heliodor. There, the king himself had approached the young wayward child with intrigue and pity. 

There was no other alternative, but being the child of a knight himself, it was unlikely that Hendrik would not have stayed in Heliodor of his own volition. With Zwaardsrust dissolved into dust over night, Heliodor had suddenly become the greatest military power in the world. He had to follow in his father’s footsteps, to honor his memory by creating a legacy that the man would have been proud of. And here the perfect opportunity to fulfill that dream had been presented. Of anyone that could have been spared that horrible night, there had to have been a reason that it was Hendrik. That sacrifice could not be in vain.

Even at the delicate age of six years old, it had already been ingrained in him that knights were sworn to defend, to serve their King, to prevent another catastrophe like the one that had wiped out his home from ever happening again. It was a belief that would be engraved deeper and deeper into his psyche as Hendrik matured, validated again by the disaster unleashed on Dundrasil.

Of course, no matter what path he took, life moved on without Zwaardsrust, without his parents and sisters, without dancing. And like all children who were fortunate enough to, Hendrik grew up.

It was not without challenges. He did not know the difference at the time, and what were the falling outs of a night littered with trauma, Hendrik could only refer to as faults and inadequacies that had to be ripped from him posthaste.

He would often cry incessantly into the night, sometimes overwhelmed by sheer homesickness while other fits were simply the aftermath of a too realistic nightmare. “Nightmare” was perhaps a liberal term; the flashes that played across his mind were more like memories. Ones where Hendrik was suddenly thrust back into that dark basement all over again, screaming for his father until his cries resorted to indecipherable, grief stricken wails before the ceiling collapsed above him. No one ever answered those cries, not until he awoke, that is.

When his dreams finally forced him out of sleep, Jasper would often be at his bedside, if not already underneath the blankets with him. In his arms would always be a book, paired with a sour expression hastily plastered upon his face, still puffy from sleep. He would always act put upon, inconvenienced by Hendrik’s inability to stop blubbering like an infant, but they both knew that each others company was direly needed in those times. Not just for Hendrik’s sake (though he was always the louder of their duo) but for Jasper as well.

For all of the fuss that he would put up, that coy act of pretending that he pitied Hendrik rather than cared for him, Jasper had played a significant role in helping Hendrik feel like he still had a family after all.

They had both become orphans sooner than they had become knights, and in those similarities the two of them had forged a makeshift brotherhood. More than a brotherhood, perhaps, had things not gone so array. Two lost boys, shadowed by loneliness and the expectations of parents they no longer had. The other boy had been so innocent back then, and above all else, more than anything, Jasper had been beautiful. He could have easily taken Hendrik’s heart if only he had for once in his life mustered up the courage to offer it. 

But Hendrik had been innocent too, innocent and naïve. In no way capable of handling his own emotions let alone those of another. And besides, how would Jasper hear him now? There was no point in talking to a corpse.

Jasper was the brother that Hendrik had always wanted growing up. And when the young princess Jade had finally come around, the opportunity arose for him to serve as a big brother to her, too. An older brother that was strong, doting, and affectionate, like his sisters had been for him.

While Carnelian had taken him in and had given Hendrik a home, there was still the matter of the gaping, father-shaped hole left in in his heart. Unlike wounds of the flesh, it only became bigger in time. Hendrik had always vied for his father’s approval, and all too naturally the King had become a stand in to fill that hole. 

So when the chance to train under the Lord of Puerto Valor came to him just before his sixteenth birthday, there was no other option than to accept that opportunity with steadfast determination. By then it had almost been ten years since he had arrived in Heliodor. Stewing in Hendrik had been the desire to finally prove himself, to earn his keep, and that passion was starting to boil over. A potent combination of youthful ignorance and eagerness to please the man who meant everything to him.

Arriving on the docks of Puerto Valor served as a bit of a culture shock. The language, the food, even the buildings were all different. The contrast was even bolder than how Heliodor differed from Zwaardsrust. But the men here all carried themselves with pride, swords heavy against their backs, that much was certain. He was undoubtedly in the right location.

Hendrik was no stranger to feeling out of place. Looking different from everyone else had become a full time job. It was already off putting how he was the only boy in Heliodor with purple hair, but as soon as puberty hit Hendrik had grown absurdly tall. With gangling limbs that seemed far too skinny for their own body, as if one night he had sleepily mistaken a torture rack for his bed and was pulled apart overnight. Not to mention his slowly deepening voice now cracked whenever he spoke too loudly. And then there was that dreaded inability to grow a full beard despite hair now sprouting from seemingly everywhere else on his person. The passage of time was cruel indeed.

Thusly, it was no surprise to him that on his very first morning of training that the Lord of Puerto Valor, Don Rodrigo himself, hand picked Hendrik from the crowd of other boys he practically towered over, and personally addressed him as a “quivering sack of meat”. Surely, it could be argued that name calling was not the most modest method for humbling an impressionable gang of youths. But had Hendrik not already hated the experience of inhabiting a physical form, he might have started to at that very moment. 

“How is the weather up there, boy?” Rodrigo asked.

Hendrik lied through his teeth, arms nervously at his sides. “ _Sí señor_ , I do not understand the question, _señor_.” Of course he understood the question. He had only been asked the very same one a thousand times since his dreaded growth-spurt.

Though almost matched in height, the Don still had a more dominating presence. However it would not have been inaccurate to assume that even if Rodrigo had been several feet shorter than his newest pupil, Hendrik would have been afraid of him regardless. The man was just that imposing. 

He looked down his (rather striking) mustache at Hendrik. “So, you are not only freakishly tall, but you’re stupid too?”

Rodrigo could give just one look and every man within a fifty mile radius would have been at the ready to receive command. He was gallant, with a powerful build, in possession of stern eyes and a clear gaze that always looked toward the path ahead. He allowed his accomplishments to speak for themselves; in that he had almost singlehandedly trained every knight in Heliodor. He did not ask for respect, but demanded it. Don Rodrigo was in sum everything that Hendrik was not, yet everything Hendrik wanted to be.

So to hear a man whom he idolized ask if he was stupid? Well, it was a bit discouraging. What was he supposed to say? Yes?

So he tried that. “ _Sí señor,_ ” Hendrik said. 

A string of laughter came from the very front of the line, shattering the tense quiet not unlike an arrow piercing the air. The sound struck Hendrik like lightning, coursing throughout every nerve of his body and straight to his heart. He stood there with his mouth gaping while the Don turned to the disturbance. 

“ _¡Callate, Norberto!_ ” Rodrigo hollered, eyes shifted to the boy, before immediately whipping back to Hendrik who had since begun to grow pale. “ _¿Y tú_ , do you like telling jokes? Do you think you’re funny, eh, funny man? Have you come here just to make a mockery of me?”

Hendrik stammered, “ _¡Señor… lo siento mucho… m-mucho por…!_ ” 

Rodrigo put his hand up, effectively silencing Hendrik and the laughing boy. Suddenly it was just the three of them on that training ground, the other cadets all but fading into nonexistence across a haze of anxiety.

“Let us see how funny you are holding a sword. _¡Norberto, ven aca!_ ” He pointed at Hendrik, for the first time addressing him in the language they spoke in Heliodor. “And you too, Funny Man, over here! Arms in front of you!”

Hendrik’s heart beat against his chest. A dull training sword had since been placed in his shaking hands. Norberto, the laughing boy, stood across from him. There was something eerily familiar about him, though it was certain that they had never met until just now. Norberto tested his own training sword with ease and grace. As if it weighed nothing at all. A wave of nausea hit Hendrik; how unfortunate would it be to throw up on his first day? He had been briefed prior to arriving that such acts should be spared until at least the third or fourth.

“Go ahead, try and hit him, the first on the floor loses,” the Don prompted when Hendrik only stood there, sword quivering in frightened hands. “If you can land even one hit on _mi’jito_ , then you can call me impressed.” 

A flame was set alight in Hendrik’s mind. Did he just call him… was this Norberto truly the son of Don Rodrigo? He had already made a fool of himself moments prior, and now Rodrigo was expecting him to raise a sword against his own child? Was this some sort of test? And why had Hendrik been singled out?

The young boy could not have been a year or two younger than Hendrik was, perhaps just shy of fourteen years, but the differences between their statures could not have been more obvious. It would have been akin to sending an orc after a slime.

It was by no means a fair fight in his eyes, but what Hendrik did not realize at the time was in what way. Little did he know, that the doomed slime in his metaphor was none other than Hendrik himself.

“I will not fight someone smaller than me,” Hendrik proclaimed and turned about to face his instructor. He paused for a moment, before his face flushed, “… _señor._ ”

Rodrigo laughed at that, and smiled for what was probably the first time that day. “So, the meek boy suddenly feels bold enough to defy an order. Your first mistake was underestimating my son, and your second one is turning your eyes away from your opponent.”

Hendrik turned his head back, only to shout and stumble as he just barely caught the end of Norberto’s sword thrusted against his own. 

“H-hey! Wait a second!” He cried.

Norberto laughed warmly, and again a lightning bolt crashed full force against Hendrik’s pounding chest.

“You had better do as my papi says, _señorito_ ,” The boy cautioned, eyes glistening with a twinkling air of mischief, “or else he’ll throw you over his knee. You’re never too big for that, you know.”

It was honestly a wonder how Hendrik had even heard the boy speak so delicately, the sound was a stark contrast that could somehow still be heard over the clash of their swords and the beating of his heart drowning out his ears. 

Growing up Hendrik had been taught the basics of swordplay; the King of Heliodor was himself a magnificent sight when holding a blade. But he had only ever truly spared with Jasper, who had the brains to accompany his own brawn. He could not best Hendrik in a spar any more than Hendrik could out-write Jasper with a more eloquent and convincing essay. Indeed, his old friend lacked the same physical prowess Hendrik had learned to let carry him through their friendly battles, so he had only assumed Norberto’s smaller stature gave away to that same weakness. He could not have been more wrong. Just as Jasper used his endless repertoire of knowledge to outmatch Hendrik in the realms of wit, Norberto did the same with the grace and litheness in his swordsmanship.

He only began to realize this lapse in judgement mid-way through their match. When every time Hendrik grasped his sword with both hands, and brought it swinging down with all of his might, only for Norberto to avoid his strikes with a relative ease. As if he were merely dancing with a pretty girl in a ballroom… but this was not a ballroom and Hendrik was not a pretty girl.

“You’re very strong, _señorito_ ,” Norberto said. “But strength alone won’t get you very far.”

He could have been more condescending, like his father had no qualms being, but Hendrik supposed the upcoming sense of humiliation was more than enough retaliation for his misjudging. His swinging frenzy gave way to an in-balance in his weight distribution, and Hendrik was lacking in a commanding posture; it was a blaring weakness Norberto was more than ready to point out through a carefully timed leg swipe right underneath him.

Hendrik was sent sprawling to the ground. A flourish and the tip of Norberto’s sword against his chest was the last nail in his metaphorical coffin, and all it took for Hendrik to realize that he had so easily lost. 

When Norberto pulled away his sword, free arm extended to help his opponent up, Hendrik could not even muster up the courage to look at his face. An overbearing sense of shame, self loathing, and… something else that he could not even begin to articulate over came him. For the life of him, he did not want to look up at his teacher, either, but with downcast eyes he eventually was able to do at least that much. If only out of the pestering inclination to please every man who was superior to him. There was enough salt in the wound knowing that he had lost, but worse still that Hendrik had not been able to land even one true hit on Norberto. 

“ _S-señor_ ,” Hendrik panted, eyes prickling with tears, “I am sorry that I could not follow your orders.”

Rodrigo frowned then, arms crossed while he looked from Hendrik to Norberto and back to Hendrik again. At his father’s glance Norberto only crossed his arms in kind and pouted, as if he wanted to scold the man but thought better of it… for the moment. 

“On your feet, _mijo_ ,” the Don eventually ordered. “We have a lot of work to do. Start over with that training dummy over there,” He gestured far away and vaguely from their sparring ground. “It can’t move, so you just might have a chance with it.”

Hendrik was on his feet, bowing, and immediately grateful that he had not at the moment of his defeat been sent straight back to Heliodor on a boat. There was still a chance. 

But even as he walked away, practice sword but a dull weight in his arms, he could not overcome the nagging feeling of insecurity that walked along side him. What a complete and utter failure that had been. He had missed an opportunity to impress the Don, to show gratitude toward his King, and to make his father proud. If the man was still even watching over his useless son at this point, that was… if Hendrik could even consider himself that lucky. There were perhaps better things to do in the afterlife than watch your only surviving child make a fool of your legacy.

So he fruitlessly swung at that accursed training dummy for hours, until long after the sun had set over the ocean. The dust on his cheeks was periodically wiped away by a new stream of tears, a bitter reminder that there was still a long road ahead.

As testing as his first day on the path to knighthood had been, the second day did not fair much better. Neither did the third. Hendrik spent most of it on punishment, running laps around the beach after he had the night before mistakenly told a lady in town _buenas nalgas_ instead of _buenas noches_. Her husband, apparently a well to do aristocrat, indignantly marched straight to the Don not long after, demanding an explanation. Hendrik was scolded for his lack of chivalry but commended for at least attempting to practice his Valorian with the locals. On the bright side, his laps gave him much time to practice his greetings to everyone that passed by. Never again would Hendrik tell a woman that she had a “nice butt”. He will never know what he missed on that third day of training. 

What he also missed, after he had been scolded and turned away, was the way the Don and his steward bent over with laughter the second the door had closed behind Hendrik. Maybe there was still hope for him after all.

A fortnight passed. Then, on the fifteenth morning of his training, Hendrik finally threw up, which he took as a promise that a good day was at last in the works. Perhaps, Father was looking out for him after all, or more likely, his stomach had caught up to him after the laps he made around the beach. Whatever the reason, Hendrik cast aside the chip on his shoulder and vowed to make it a good one.

Of course, it was all easier said than done. He swung again at his training partner, an accursed, stationery dummy that he was beginning to know all too well, when a voice chimed out to him.

“ _¡Buenos días, Henrikito!_ ”

Hendrik had not forgotten about Norberto. Loathsome and sullen as he was to admit it, the boy had not strayed far from his thoughts since first meeting him just weeks ago. He could not stand him. Wherever he roamed, whether it was the training ground or the barracks, or the dining hall, wherever, people adored Norberto no matter what he did. Something about Norberto stuck with him, too, though Hendrik knew almost nothing about him. Other than that he was the son of Don Rodrigo, likely the next in line to become Lord of Puerto Valor, and an exceedingly accomplished prodigy in all things pertaining to combat. Perfect, even.

No. That did not seem to be the reason… Perhaps it was his carefree eyes, or the way Norberto seemed to float instead of walk, with an invisible pair of wings and a halo that made him shine. Bright and endless, like the wheat fields of Zwaardsrust. Or perhaps it was… no, what was he even talking about? Hendrik could not afford a distraction, not when he was already treading on such thin ice.

Norberto must have taken his quiet thoughts as an invitation. Rather than be hindered by the older boy’s stormy silence as anyone else might have, he watched Hendrik, brows raised in curiosity.

“You’re doing it all wrong,” Norberto said just then.

Hendrik turned to him, abashed at the other’s continued boldness. “What?” he asked.

“Your stance, for one, you’re too tense and you’re holding your sword at the wrong angle.” Norberto approached him. “Papi will never stop picking on you if you keep acting so sheepish.”

The frustrations and obstacles thrown his way since Hendrik arrived in Puerto Valor had started to pile up, and let themselves become known through a sharp exhale and furrow of his brow. 

“And why exactly is it that you care? Have you come here just to laugh at me?” Hendrik frowned. “You are the Don’s golden boy, you can do no wrong in his eyes or in those of anyone else for that matter. You have no idea what it has been like here for me, and now you think you can stand there and speak down to me?” He swung his sword again, blatantly missing his unmoving target as he ripped his gaze away from Norberto. 

“What an abundance of leisure you must have!” Hendrik all but spat. “I am afraid such a luxury does not find me in kind, and there is much work to be done!”

Norberto looked on pensively, thoughtful, but not at all bothered by that sudden outburst. It was undeserved, surely, and something that immediately weighed down his own heart with regret; the boy was not the source of Hendrik’s woes. But either way, those accusatory words went over him like water off of a duck’s back. Norberto was as fazed by his attitude as much as he was intimidated by Hendrik’s size, and that was to say, well, not at all. 

Indeed, for someone who seemed so perfect, Norberto did not appear swayed by much. His carefree attitude gave way to a certain apathy, perhaps as the result of a life of ease, being adored as he was. What really lurked underneath those calm waters? Hendrik wondered.

“Is that how you see things? You really are kind of dull,” Norberto said, looking at last far more serious than Hendrik had ever seen him. He asked out of nowhere, “What do you think of my father?”

“The Don?” Hendrik was taken aback, but breathed out, “I think he is incredible. One of the most amazing men I have ever met.”

Norberto stopped to think. “Even after all of the punishments he’s put you through?”

“Yes,” Hendrik stated without pause.

The other boy frowned and Hendrik did not have a clue as to why. He had an amazingly accomplished father, and Norberto himself was set on the path of following in those grand footsteps with ease, even despite his age. Should Norberto not have been proud of Don Rodrigo? Of himself? Hendrik would have been, if he… if his own father was still…

“Then you have the right to know,” Norberto almost shouted, before he took on a whisper, as if he were about to utter something forbidden. 

“The other night, I heard my papi talking with his steward. Your progress… it’s… Papi wants to send you back to Heliodor.”

Hendrik glared at him. “You are lying,” he said immediately.

“You don’t have to believe me, but if I really am as golden as you say, then you know as much as I do that I’m not the one between us with anything to lose.”

He had felt like a failure the very second Rodrigo had picked him out from that crowd of cadets. Norberto could have been fooling him then, it could have all been a cruel prank. Another way to demoralize him. Hendrik had heard the other boys whispering, about him, about how he was not going to last. That when the next ship to Heliodor docked in just two more weeks, Hendrik would be on it.

But he remembered the way that Norberto had turned his eyes toward his own father, arms crossed and indignant, after Rodrigo had pitted Hendrik against him. Norberto had been angry at that. But why? Why did he care how Hendrik felt?

Shame arose in him, thinking of the utter hindrance he would be were he to face the King now. He would be no better off from where he had started. Carnelian would think him an ungrateful failure. What did Hendrik know about honor or duty, if he could not even complete basic training? Surely, he would be cast away from Heliodor, back to the ruins of Zwaardsrust. 

Hendrik tried not to panic. He still had time yet to change Don Rodrigo’s mind, but how would he be able to when it seemed like everything he did was miles short of adequate?

He had so many questions. But Hendrik started with the one that felt the simplest at the time.

“Why are you telling me all of this?” He asked.

Surprisingly, it was Norberto’s turn to be taken aback. He looked down at his boots. 

“I wasn’t going to say anything, you know,” Norberto breathed out in a hushed tone. It was as if it pained the other boy to tell him, “But, well… last night. After everyone else had gone to sleep, I saw you out here. You were crying.”

His breath hitched, but Hendrik’s lungs found enough oxygen to air out this next retort. “That is not true,” he argued, even though he knew that in itself was the only lie here, “You do not know… you don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Hey, hey, _cálmate_!” Norberto hushed him, shocked, but it was all but useless at this point. “Everyone cries. It wasn’t a big deal!”

“Stop lying!” Hendrik yelled. “You don’t know anything! You never had to earn your own father’s love, you always had it! You always had him!” His jaw clenched in rage, seething, but still the words somehow managed to pour out alongside of the tears welled up in his eyes. 

He hated that accursed weakness most of all. If the King were here, he would have told Hendrik to stop crying immediately. He would have reminded him that he needed to be strong. But he could not, no, he would never be able to stop it. It was a flood of emotions, one that Hendrik would drown in before eventually taking everyone else down with him.

“Please, Hendrik, it’s going to be okay. You don’t have to cry anymore, I want to help you,” Norberto tried pulling him up from the ground, but he was far too heavy.

“Enough! I was never crying!” Hendrik choked out and tried to push him away, “I’m not crying... I’m… not crying… I’m not…”

He kept repeating this mantra, even over Norberto’s worried ushering as the other boy tried to get Hendrik on his feet and back to their barracks. Perhaps he would plead for Rodrigo’s help in consoling him. How much Hendrik would hate that, as if he actually had a choice in the matter, to allow the man to see him in such a pathetic state. Was this really happening? Or was it all just a dream? Another nightmare, even? No… it couldn’t be. Not a nightmare. Not with the way Norberto shined.

It was just like the nights where he stayed up as a little boy, weeping and unable to clutch onto the blissful euphoria of mindless sleep. It had been broad daylight when he had collapsed, but all of the lights began to flicker out around him, surrounding Hendrik in pitch black darkness. He was all by himself then; not even Norberto anywhere to be found. 

Just Hendrik, alone, before another dream, no… a memory came to him.

The sound of his own sobs, much younger, filled his throat and again Hendrik was but six years old, wailing uncontrollably for his family. 

A door creaked open, and Hendrik was able to look up long enough to see he was surrounded by crisp white sheets while Jasper sat next to him, a heavy book in his lap, before another wave of painful sobs forced him to again tightly shut his eyes. His face was swollen with, of course, tears as he cried with abandon.

“I tried to get him to stop, your majesty, but he would not listen to any of the stories I read to him,” Jasper quietly uttered, though it was not unkindly. Rather, his visage was no more than a child who was anticipating disappointment for not doing as they were asked. Though he had a tiredness to his gaze that far surpassed what should ever be found on that of a six year old.

Carnelian spoke, a warm hand guiding the small boy back into his own bed. “You did well enough indeed, Jasper, please allow me to handle the rest.” 

When the King returned to his side, Hendrik was pulled up into his awaiting arms. His small body was swallowed by his own too large of a nightgown, but his scrawny legs and arms peaked out from underneath it as he gently quivered and clutched onto the man without a second thought. As if he had always belonged right there, protected and cherished. Desperate for any kind embrace, just like that of his father, where no harm could possibly reach.

“Hendrik, you and I both know that you need to rest,” Carnelian patted at a small twine of purple hair. Nurses had to cut it short when he arrived in Heliodor, as dirt, smoke, and sweat had matted it beyond repair. “Tell me, what is the matter?”

“I was sleeping, I was,” Hendrik pleaded, as if that would make matters better. It was a wonder that his king could even understand him through all of his whimpering. “But then I woke up and I was alone and it was so dark. It was so dark…”

Carnelian shushed him. “It is alright now. There is no darkness here that can touch you.”

He would have said the same thing to his son, were he still around. So, Hendrik wailed anew, reminded of his father and all that he had lost. The pain was still so fresh, a permanent vice wrapped around his young heart. What had he done to deserve it all?

“I want my daddy,” he cried, “I want to go home.”

“I know we cannot replace your family in Zwaardsrust, I would never dream of such a thing. But do know, my child, that you are loved here as well. Heliodor will always have a place for you.” 

“You have been through so much,” Carnelian hugged Hendrik tighter. His own eyes brimmed with tears at the state of the young boy suddenly in his care, “but I am so proud of you.”

Hours passed as they cried together, and still Carnelian held onto him. Even as the sun began to rise over the horizon, morning at last upon them, he held onto Hendrik. It was not until his sobs quieted to small whimpers and his body at last stilled with sleep, that the man set him down into bed.

Through half lidded eyes and vision far too hazy with exhaustion, Hendrik could not see his father, but heard him all the same when his voice reached out to him. Like sunlight peaking through a window. 

It was the start of a new day for him, a new life, arisen from the ashes of the old one that he had been forced to leave behind.

“I love you, son,” The voice said, before repeating what he had heard hours ago. The most beautiful words he had ever heard, “I am so proud of you.”


	2. Where Planted, Flowers Bloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His heart skipped a few beats, but instead of dying Hendrik boldly asked him, “What is your dream?”
> 
> A long pause hung in the air. Then, sweetly, Norberto said, “Would you like to dance with me, querido?” and presented his question with another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must really adore writing this because I was able to produce more than one chapter in a whole month. Sylvendrik... their power... I am tender. Anyway thank you SO MUCH for the response last chapter, I didn’t expect so much positive feedback but I am humbled & appreciative. :) 💖 A special thanks to chujellies, angsty_dude, ladyofheliodor, and midnight_marimba for their commentary, and of course to my supportive wife doperperson. Hope you all enjoy this next one. 💕

Hendrik awoke in a bright room surrounded by large windows. He was with none other than Norberto, the other boy asleep soundly beside him. Innocent, seemingly incapable of any of his usual quips or devilish tomfoolery, and so unlike the boy who Hendrik had in the waking world learned to resent and tolerate. It dawned on Hendrik then how handsome the other boy was. Something he realized not quite for the first time, but never had the patience to acknowledge until that very moment. 

Norberto’s countenance was dark, yet soft, with deeply colored brown hair that was long and curled. Normally well kept in a low ponytail, but at the moment set loose to pool over his lithe shoulders. He was absurdly beautiful, probably the most beautiful boy in Puerto Valor, and yet the act of considering him the prettiest of _anything_ did not yet strike Hendrik as odd. For it was simply a matter of opinion, an observation, one that he kept close to his fluttering heart.

Occupied he was with his thoughts, pondering on how unfair or simply impossible it was for someone to be that pretty. Meanwhile, Norberto opened his eyelids, once pressed closed against long eyelashes but now turned to gaze at Hendrik intently as he blinked away sleep. And only at that moment did Hendrik realize that he had been staring, gandering more like, at the other boy while he dreamt.

Hendrik averted his eyes, trying all the while to fight down a blush from spreading open on his face like a wildflower. How shamelessly bold! It would do him no favors to be caught daydreaming.

To steer away his thoughts, he suddenly became very interested in the shape and contours of his own hands. No longer tiny little things, they now gave way to light callouses forming on his palms, a line of them extended down to even his finger tips. Surely, it was a sign of the dedicated work he had thrown himself into. Yes… hands… they were an odd thing. He wondered what Norberto’s felt like to hold.

“Good morning,” Norberto smiled, looking anything but plaintive, with his quiet greeting graciously saving Hendrik from his own traitorous mind. 

“G-good morning,” Hendrik replied at once.

Only then did Hendrik wonder where he was, and more importantly, how in the world had he ended up sleeping in the same bed as Norberto? The décor on the walls was far too ornate to be anywhere near the humble barracks, and the bed under him much too comfortable. Though fog and fatigue clouded his brain, he eventually put two and two together. 

“Why are we in your house?” asked he.

Norberto sat up and stretched. “You don’t wanna hear such a boring story, do you?” He did not await an answer, “We talked, there were tears, and I figured you didn’t want to share in the theatrics so I brought you back here. Told papi that you were sick... You did throw up yesterday, no?”

“I did indeed,” Hendrik recalled with a certain fondness.

“I had to drag you here all on my own, I couldn’t snap you out of it. You slept through the afternoon and night. You know, you should really take better care of yourself,” There was no humor to be found on Norberto’s face. “You can stay up every night going over drills until you reach perfection, if that’s what you really want, but you’re no good to anyone dead from exhaustion.”

Hendrik frowned. Despite the fact that Norberto had taken care of him when he had needed it, something ugly and bitter stirred within him at being challenged and reminded of his blaring shortcomings. He remembered then the secret passed to him last afternoon, of being sent back to Heliodor, and so a delayed pang of rage overtook him. 

“And I am supposed to just take that from you?” He laughed sullenly and at once ripped himself from the bed. “You? Who could never do a thing wrong even if he tried? Hah, _that_ would be your one failure, and for that I can at last be mirthful!”

Norberto stood up in kind. Though Hendrik had his frame bested by many inches, he all of a sudden shrunk to the size of a mouse underneath that steely gaze.

“ _¡Ay, pobre!_ I can’t take it anymore! Ever since you got here all you do is stand there frowning and looking like _un perrito triste_! And when you do finally open your mouth, you don’t care about anyone else’s feelings at all! What is wrong with you?”

“That is exactly it,” Hendrik recoiled slightly as if pulling away from an invisible blaze, “Everything! Everything is wrong with me and I cannot stop it.”

He had not considered it before; the way his shyness and inability to embrace his new position in life had displayed itself so readily in front of others. An open book with a magnifying glass against every page.

Upon discerning Hendrik’s woeful visage, Norberto pulled away, shoulders slumping in defeat. 

A sad little puppy was not a far off impression. And though Norberto had every right to lash out at Hendrik in return, it was simply against his nature to kick a puppy. Even if they were as gigantic and insufferably slow witted as his new friend here was. 

“Then why won’t you let me help you?” Norberto frowned.

Suddenly, Hendrik could recall in vivid detail what had happened just before he had blacked out. Norberto had offered his assistance, so readily in fact, but that begged the question as to why. 

So he asked, tears in his eyes, “Help me? Why would anyone ever want to do such a thing?”

“I like to make people happy,” Norberto told him easily enough, like it was a simple matter and that Hendrik’s prospective career as a knight were not at all at stake. He gazed at Hendrik’s snotty nose, and chided him not unlike an affectionate mother, “You sure can dish it out, but you can’t seem to handle that same aggression when it’s thrown back at you, eh? I’m sorry for getting so carried away.”

“Here, have a bear,” The boy continued aloofly and passed over a stuffed toy from a small habitat of animal kin stationed comfortably upon the bed. “You look like you could use a friend.”

Hendrik held the creature away at an arms length. He would not think back to the stuffed bear he still had hidden away within the deep recesses of his room back in Heliodor. A bear with kind eyes and soft brown fur worn down with age, presented to him by his makeshift king of a father. 

“But why?” Hendrik asked again, “I have been nothing but cruel to you since we first met.”

“ _Mira_ , listen, a new day is upon us, so are you just going to stand there or are we going to take action?”

“Take action… I suppose,” Hendrik started, “But why—“

“You ask so many questions!” Norberto groaned and pulled on Hendrik’s arm. “Cut it out and follow me, you don’t want to be late for your first day of being The Great Norberto’s star pupil!”

———

Spending his evenings with Norberto was not the horrible, painstakingly tedious thing that Hendrik would have first assumed it to be. Rather the contrary, in fact, and his unprecedented company at once shed light on the glaring lack of companionship that Hendrik had not realized was missing since relocating from Heliodor.

Hendrik had always had a friend in Jasper. They had made a pact to protect Heliodor, together, and it was a vow Hendrik wore proudly around his neck. A reminder that he was, despite everything, loved, and that he would one day prove to his King that such love was not wasted on him.

Jasper himself was never the most… easy going child. He was for all intents and purposes frightening and intimidating well before even emerging as the cunning general that became of him, though in ownership of long, golden hair and a lithe frame that never would have at first glance warranted such a reputation. 

Even as a boy, Jasper had been a know it all and possessed a bit of a, for lack of any better term, unquenchable mean streak that often scared away the other children and even some of the more tender hearted adults. Not Hendrik, of course, for nothing ever frightened him, especially not someone as small as Jasper. It was easy enough to dodge his blows, both the proverbial and physical. He knew underneath all of that pride was a boy just as lonely as he. They were indeed a rare match, but it was a match that worked for them all the same. 

Jasper had been pragmatic, realistic, which suited young Hendrik’s temperament just fine. Even then, Hendrik never felt like he was well equipped to play with others his own age. There were many reasons. He began at once to count the ways: He did not like stories nor books that were not based in reality; fantastical, exaggerated tales of heroics put him to sleep. He did not understand the humor others found in practical jokes or pranks (especially not ones involving bugs). And the concept of playing pretend is still something that eludes him to this very day. What was the point in pretending for something when there was always work to be done to achieve those same means? It made little sense.

They would write letters to one another. Jasper’s would cover the twenty something tomes he had studied that week, with the odd complaint peppered in about how he wished he were on the sunny beaches of Puerto Valor. How unfair it was that Hendrik got to play around in the water while half of the time Jasper was up to his nose in snow. And when not in the cold, that nose was stuck in the middle of one of the thousands of books lining the walls of the library in Sniflheim. Poor Jasper had always hated the cold, snow and ice especially so, and Hendrik would not begrudge him for that.

Meanwhile Hendrik’s letters would bemoan just how badly eating the richly seasoned dishes as custom to Valorians every evening would upset his weak stomach, and just how ‘stupid’ and ‘disagreeable’ he became whenever around Norberto. Some weeks later, reply from Jasper would reach him letting him know not to worry about such trivial things, for Hendrik was ‘stupid’ and ‘disagreeable’ all of the time, and not just in the moments where a boy graced him with his presence. It was his friend’s odd way of comforting him. 

Regardless, Hendrik so looked forward to those letters. Writing and reading them restored a sense of normalcy during such a drastic time of change in his life, and served to remind him he did indeed have a lifelong friend to greet once he returned to Heliodor. Even as an adult, Hendrik still had a trouble or two making friends. His domain was with a sword, on the back of Obsidian; words often failed him.

That was perhaps why, when word caught on of he and Norberto spending more and more time together, that it had come off as a bit of a surprise. 

They were certainly… different. That could not be questioned. But it would have been agreed upon in time that there had never been a more compelling match up between two young, prospective soldiers. Norberto thrived while taking another under his wing, picturesque of his proud father of whom there could be no better tutelage. And within the coming weeks Hendrik’s passive, cowardly temperament on the training ground melted away, set alight by a newfound confidence and determination. 

The peak of Hendrik’s progress must have been when, in a rematch with his friend in front of none other than Don Rodrigo, he had thrown Norberto off balance with his larger frame, outwitting his faster, graceful swordplay and sending him to the ground. Norberto had sat there, mouth agape, staring starstruck up at Hendrik even when his father yelled in shock and demanded of him to get up and immediately show the other boy what for. 

If you had asked Norberto later, he would not have at all confessed to how he did not actually hear a single word Rodrigo had said then or during any of the drills following. At that fleeting moment, he had eyes only for his friend while his other senses faded to a complete stop, if only so secretly his eyes could gander deeper at Hendrik’s visage.

The transformation was more than enough of a shock to all of those there to bear witness, let alone to the sullen young man himself. As outlandish but pleasant of a surprise it had been, Hendrik knew that it could all be attributed to Norberto, for being a strange, unforeseen light in the dark. It was something for which Hendrik was eternally grateful.

But it was perhaps more than gratitude that lead to Hendrik, even during their time off, wanting nothing more than to spend his days and nights with Norberto. 

The scene of two boys walking along the easy streets of Puerto Valor, of Norberto lazily balancing on top of the railings bordering the balconies that looked out towards the moon, always peaking just above the horizon, and of Hendrik by his side, had become a common sight.

For his seventeenth birthday, Norberto had even presented Hendrik with a sweater. It was a painfully bright yellow; never a color Hendrik would pick of his own volition, but he was endeared to it all the same. When asked how it fitted him, he happily told Norberto that the sizing was a tad too big.

Among those nights, as Hendrik escorted Norberto back home, the other would then implore Hendrik to stay the night. Hendrik was delicate, an easy target, and who knew what kind of ruffians lurked the alleyways during the late hours… or so Norberto claimed, with the pure-hearted essence of _caballerismo_ coursing through his veins where blood should have been. It would have been easier; his staying with him no trouble at all, really. Or so Norberto would say. Perhaps he simply wanted Hendrik next to him, his larger body like a warm fire cradling him, or more aptly an oversized stuffed bear. 

It had not at the time seemed strange to either of them. It was an odd but soothing comfort, one between fast founded friends who could not yet place a finger on the intimacy of their bond, and one that was in itself an unspoken confirmation of just how much the two had served as unshakable support for one another. Their most extensive talks would last until the early hours of the morning, lying there in Norberto’s bed, legs stretched out underneath a shared blanket. It was easy enough to lose track of time when lost in the sound of another’s voice. 

Hendrik would most nights speak of Zwaardsrust. How much he missed his old home, how he missed the golden fields of wheat and watching farm animals from outside his window. Even the times when his sisters would take him out to pick flowers, he missed that too, painstakingly so. He would never mention the dancing, for Hendrik did not like to dance. Sometimes, he would even bring up his mother and father. With a twinge of guilt he would realize he had not thought of them for some time, busy as he was with his training, but something about lying there and trying to recall their faces would stir in him a long forgotten fear of the dark. 

Whenever he was beside himself, fraught with tears, Norberto would light a candle for the bedside, and Hendrik would start to feel a little bit better.

———

One night his eyes refused to close, so after hours of tossing and turning and tuning out the sound of Norberto’s soft snoring, Hendrik at last tore himself from the bed. 

He made his way down the stairs, delicately balanced on the tips of his feet as the sound of his steps always announced his presence whether he liked it or not, searching for the restroom when he happened upon a painting of a woman. Hendrik inspected her closely. He did not notice women often these days. She was certainly handsome, with fine eyes, relaxed but focused, not unlike those of his dear friend. 

Rodrigo was suddenly behind him, arms crossed while he too looked at the portrait, “She’s beautiful, no? But a painting pales in comparison to the real Gerbera. She outshone even the sun, my late wife.”

“She is,” Hendrik agreed readily, though he was a little bit nervous. Talking to the Don outside of routine was still strange to him, but despite that he asked, “Do you think of her often, _señor_?”

“ _Sí, ella era el amor de mi vida_. But Norberto _es mi vida ahora_ , and not a day goes by where I don’t see her, in him. I know he is growing up now, and has forged a companionship with you.”

Rodrigo continued, “I have a favor to ask of you, Hendrik. I worry for my son. He is a talented boy, everything he touches turns to gold, though at times he is a little aloof and strange to me. I have always tried to guide my son, but he is coming to a divergence in life and at some point every man must make decisions on his own. _Mi’jito_ is strong enough, but until Norberto comes to that moment of choice I would ask you to help keep him grounded.”

“On my honor,” Hendrik replied, as serious as ever, but a flush of color rose to his face in the dark, “Norberto… he is… you must be proud of him.”

“I am. He will be a good knight one day,” said Rodrigo. He turned to Hendrik then, his expression almost asking permission for what he was about to say next, “And so will you.”

Something caught in his throat then and Hendrik did not know how to reply. “ _Buenas noches, señor_ ,” he said instead, before turning heel and returning to bed without another word.

Rodrigo called after him, “ _Buenas nalgas_ , Henrikito.”

Sleep did not come for another while yet, but when it did grace him Hendrik dreamt of his father. And how he used to hold him and lead in their dances. He looked up at his father, beaming, and though the sun blotted out the man’s face Hendrik could tell that when he stared down at his son, his face carried nothing but affection and a smile.

———

The circus was coming to town. Oh, sweet merciful Goddess, the circus was coming to town. 

It was an event that would have completely sailed over Hendrik’s head unnoticed, and gratefully so, were it not of course for sweet Norberto. He insisted on going and had even began saving money for a ticket the moment the news reached him. Worst of all, Norberto insisted that Hendrik come with him. To the circus… to see… well, whatever they did at the circus. How was he supposed to know?

Hendrik protested, as he was already such an expert on making a fool of himself. Or so he was akin to believe; he had made Norberto laugh a few times now and again, had he not? There was no need for any circus. If he wanted to see a clown then he need go no further than in front of a mirror. 

That answer was however not good enough for his friend, “No, no, _cariño_ , the performers are funny on purpose. You’re not funny at all, just clumsy and kind of an oaf.” Norberto told him sternly. 

And with that the two of them soon found themselves seated front and center to witness the debauchery firsthand. Where was a boat to Heliodor when you needed one?

As unsettling and borderline nauseating as the so called festivities were, what truly tied Hendrik’s stomach in knots was watching Norberto. He could not take his eyes off of him, not even for a second, so Hendrik sat there mesmerized during the entire show. With the way Norberto’s face alighted with joy, Hendrik could feel something sweltering deep within his chest. It poked between his ribcage, swelled up in his throat, and the palms of his hands were made clammy with sweat. He dared not say a word. For he feared that his guts would spew out if he so much as opened his sorry mouth.

He longed to be closer to him. For much of his life Hendrik had approached the matters of love with a tragic sense of apathy and preservation. He knew of the matter, yes, for he felt love for his family, his king, but when Hendrik would think of love he thought at the same time of something that had to be earned. Thoughts of his father flashed before him, and even Carnelian came to mind. The two most important men in his life, for whom the thought of dishonoring made Hendrik openly weep. Not Norberto however, for whom he felt nothing and everything for at the same time.

He never had to earn Norberto’s love. 

He thought back to his overbearing sense of duty, to his self hatred. Perhaps there had been more to the matter of love Hendrik never understood. To imagine himself chasing love, affection, whatever it was called as he did for the rest of his days was unsettling. There was no point. He had found it. In the one place Hendrik had not searched; he was not the perfect knight he had always longed to be, but his love had been returned all the same. 

What was love, even? Hendrik wondered. He still had not taken his eyes away from Norberto. 

Love must have been happiness. Or rather, the elation he felt when watching happiness blossom his friend’s face. Love was the happiness of making others happy. Yes, that seemed like a suitable definition given the circumstances. 

It was an addictive feeling, and Hendrik could understand then what Norberto had meant when he had first told him so many months ago that he liked to make others happy. He had shown Hendrik that very same devotion before Hendrik had ever realized what his words meant. 

Something surged within him, an untapped excitement, one that was as dangerous as it was thrilling. 

Hendrik was far too overjoyed to feel like a fool for his short sightedness then, even when a rubber ball blew up in his face to reveal a stuffed rabbit. As absurd as it was to make such a life altering revelation while surrounded by balloons and confetti, he cherished it all the same. 

Love without duty. Happiness for the sake of it. There was a thought.

———

The circus had situated their tent at the very edge of Puerto Valor, across from the grand bridge that served as the mainland entrance to the town, and overlooked a wide field of golden flowers.

Hendrik had made his way out of the tent with a great haste, but meanwhile Norberto sauntered behind him and the dissipating crowd before at last fixing his gaze upon his friend. He looked towards Hendrik with a decidedly mirthful twinkle in his eyes, fine and bold, like those in the painting, and coyly addressed him with an easy smile.

“So, what did you think of the show?” Norberto asked.

Hendrik sighed and crossed his arms, but did not at all look angry. “What I think should not be said, for I fear it would sound most crass and unbecoming.”

His friend seemed expectant of that answer, or at least something along those lines, and clapped his hands together in good nature. “Always so honest,” Norberto laughed, “I doubt there’s a deceitful bone in your entire body. _Bien_ , as for myself I thought it was wonderful.”

“Should you be so pleased, then I would argue that my coming with you was not a worthless endeavor after all.”

Norberto’s cheeks flushed with a little pink. He tore his eyes away and tentatively looked out towards the sea of flowers ahead of them. The wind blew a strand of dark hair across his face, and in a moment of boldness Hendrik might have reached out to tuck it back into place, had it not been for Norberto speaking up. 

“Thank you so much for coming with me,” he started, “I had always wanted to see the circus, ever since I was just un _muchachito_ , _pero_ once I heard they were coming to Puerto Valor I knew I would finally have my chance.

“My mami… she died when I was little. There really isn’t much I know of her, except for what papi tells me, but I do know that she was a part of the troupe that performed here tonight. Her name was Gerbera, but on the stage she became Sylvia. I thought that maybe if I saw them perform, maybe I could catch a glimpse of her world and see who she was. Legends tell of _The Great Sylvia_ of Zwaardsrust, how she traveled the land and spread smiles to everyone who had the pleasure of passing her by.”

Hendrik hesitated when he asked, “Your mother was from Zwaardsrust?”

“Yes,” Norberto said, “I’m sorry for never mentioning her before. Talking about mami, it brings up some difficult memories. You understand, no?”

Regrettably yes, Hendrik decided, he did understand that feeling all too keenly. Painfully so, that it sparked a sudden wave of protectiveness, akin to pity even, for the quiet suffering his dear friend had all along endured. Expressing as much would doubtless only make the other boy burst into laughter and smack him playfully over the head, so Hendrik kept his lips shut while Norberto continued.

“I wish I could have met her. Sometimes she is all papi ever talks about… he says that she was like a flame, beautiful, _magnífica_ , and everything she touched turned to gold.”

“Your father tenderly speaks of you in the same manner as he does your mother,” Hendrik quickly interjected, though he feared his addition may have come off as too untoward when Norberto frowned.

“Does he?” Norberto stared down at their feet, “I wonder what he would say if he knew I’ve been having these strange thoughts lately. I have dreams you know, ones that cannot come true by swinging around a sword and playing hero all day.”

His heart skipped a few beats, but instead of dying Hendrik boldly asked him, “What is your dream?”

A long pause hung in the air. Then, sweetly, Norberto said, “Would you like to dance with me, _querido_?” and presented his question with another. 

Hendrik had been so taken aback by his words that he had not yet registered his friends avoidance. “I am afraid dancing is a gift that evades me,” he replied. It was not technically a lie; Hendrik had not danced in years, even when he had done so he had been nowhere near good at it, and he was terribly, deathly afraid.

“Don’t be such a stick in the mud, you old fuddy duddy,” Norberto laughed, “If I can make a dashing knight of you, then you will be a dancer in no time.”

Norberto pulled him closer and linked their hands together. His friend’s were smaller, thinner, with a certain roughness indicative of a life of hard work and diligence. 

Color rose to Hendrik’s face, painting his cheeks a bright red even in the dimly lit night. Despite the overwhelming urge to never let Norberto go again, he protested for the sake of his vanishing pride, “Please, I do not—I don’t know how. I’ll only get in your way.”

“ _Bueno_ , that is exactly where I want you.” 

So they danced, Norberto taking the lead as Hendrik foolishly attempted to keep up. For the first time in over ten years, Hendrik danced. Their motions were chaotic, untamable, and no name could be put to it. To any onlookers (to which there were thankfully none) it might have appeared as if they were two children swinging around in a circle, hands connected in a firm grasp and throwing caution to the wind as their hair whipped their faces. It did not matter to Hendrik what he looked like then, so long as he could look at Norberto. 

When it was over and they had both planted themselves firmly to the ground, Norberto glanced over. “That was wonderful, but you’re right; you’re really not very good at dancing.” he chided Hendrik, but the playful smile upon his lips said that he nowhere near minded his friend’s supposed inadequacy.

Hendrik stared at that smile, his own face still red and now further flushed from the sudden exercise, and he wanted more than anything to kiss Norberto fully. 

He instead shyly looked out towards the field of scattered yellow flowers. He had arrived to town port side, far away from where they now sat. “It is beautiful out here,” he remarked, “I never would have known such a sight existed… were it not for you. I have kept myself hidden away in the city for far too long.” 

The field inspired a sense of nostalgia. It brought him back to golden fields of wheat, ones that spread as far as the eye could see and reminded Hendrik desperately of his old home. For a moment, happiness blooming in his heart, it was like Hendrik was in Zwaardsrust all over again. There, it became a part of him now that could not be torn away.

“You should be more adventurous,” Norberto grinned. Feeling just as shy as Hendrik did in that moment, but still bold and daring as dictated by his nature, so his hand ghosted over Hendrik’s own, and placed itself on top of it where it stayed. “You know, it was mama and papi’s idea to plant flowers here. Marigolds to represent Puerto Valor, her choice, and gerberas to symbolize Zwaardsrust… and not to mention my papi’s undying affections for his _esposa_. He’s not very original, but sweet all the same.”

“If there is sweetness to be found in Don Rodrigo, then you take after him in that regard.” Hendrik agreed, an odd smile at once on his face, as he conceded to the fluttering palpitations in his chest.

It would only be a short while yet until he returned to Heliodor, at last his training complete. And though Hendrik wanted to feel pleased with accomplishing what had first seemed impossible, he knew that more than anything he would miss his most cherished friend.

“I will write to you,” he started, “Every day if I must. I do not want to lose sight of you, for I have grown accustomed to our closeness and do not wish for it to end.” 

“So dramatic, Henrikito,” Norberto closed his eyes, and held his hand tighter, “You don’t need to sound so scared. You’ll always have me.”

“And I am always yours.”

They make a promise then and there to one day dance again together, whenever the time came where they were next reunited. Older and wiser perhaps, each of them more secure in their ambitions and position as knights who will protect Erdrea. But for the moment, Hendrik thinks to himself that there is a chance after all that dancing was not so bad as it seemed, as long as Norberto was there to dance along side of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:) Poor Henny. Finally for once in his life so sweet and optimistic... little does he know I have seen his future and I am an evil little gal indeed. Big big time skip next update. Next chapter might be the finale but who knows. If you feel so inclined, I would love to hear your thoughts. 💖
> 
> Translation notes, just in case;
> 
>  _Ay, pobre!/un perrito triste_ : Oh, poor thing!/A sad puppy  
>  _Caballerismo_ : literally a knight/knighthood. Though in a more Spanish and/or Latine context it is specifically the imagery of chivalry, nurturing, family orientation, etc. through the performance of masculinity.  
>  _Mijo/mi’jito_ : my son. Also a term of endearment that can be used on non-family members.  
>  _Sí, ella era el amor de mi vida. But Norberto es mi vida ahora_ : Yes, she was the love of my life. But Norberto is my life now.  
>  _Buenas noches/buenas nalgas_ : Goodnight/nice butt.  
> Henrikito: -ito/-ita is often added to the end of someone’s name, to indicate smallness or affection. Sylvando calls Hendrik this in the Spanish version, as opposed to the English “Henny Wenny”.  
>  _Cariño_ : honey, sweetie, etc. (masc)  
>  _Muchachito_ : Little boy  
>  _Bien, bueno_ : Well, good. Sometimes “Bueno” is used as a greeting when answering a call, akin to hello.  
>  _Querido_ : dear, darling (masc), because it’s Sylvando.  
>  _Esposa_ : Wife
> 
> Until next time. 💕


	3. Sterrenhemel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvando had been just like him. He had been afraid, too afraid to love himself, but somehow he had loved Hendrik despite that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everypony! 🥺💖 At last we arrive at a conclusion?!? This is the longest thing I’ve ever written and I really enjoyed working on it, so I hope this serves as a good ending. Thank you so much to everyone who’s left comments, kudos, etc since the last chapter. 💕

Hendrik’s return to Heliodor did not bode well for his newfound idyllic visions regarding the matters of happiness. Rather, that excitement was incredibly short-lived, and then extinguished when he began to notice with a great sadness that his weekly letters to Norberto were returned to him unopened. 

A year soon passed before he ceased writing, and that act paved away a path for his endearment to sour itself into resentment. The flames he bore for Norberto were instead used to alight the blazes of a discouraging bitterness. One that would settle deeply into his heart for years to come. 

What had happened? To think he had felt truly happy upon his return, optimistic eyes locked toward the future. Then, to not hear even a word of reply from his dear friend? That hurt Hendrik immensely. Emotions would have been far easier to manage had Norberto simply spat in his face and told him to get lost; an acknowledgment of his apparent repulsion was better than nothing, surely. Regardless of how much Hendrik wished it, no letter of rebuff ever came and he was left to ponder what had gone wrong. Nights were spent tossing and turning in bed, agonizing over what misstep he could have possibly taken to warrant such rejection. 

Hendrik thought of the way Norberto’s hands felt, how it had been to merely soak in his warmth, his smiles, and most of all the exhilarating realization that he of all people had been the object of another’s affection. Someone had loved Hendrik, and Hendrik had learned to love them in kind. Or at least, it had seemed as such, for a very brief time. Now? He was unsure what to think of the entire ordeal. An empty feeling arose at that, and manifested painfully so especially in moments Hendrik lied down in bed; no one else by his side as he had grown so accustomed. The euphoria of cherishing another, and it’s subsequent, unexpected, and confusing loss, it had almost become too much to bear. 

By the time Hendrik found out of Norberto’s falling out with the Don Rodrigo, the young man having stole away from Puerto Valor like a thief in the night, never to return, years had passed. No one from those days knew what became of Norberto, nor the reason why he had made such a hasty exit. Indeed, that was doubtlessly a secret between the boy and his father. Hendrik himself had checked himself out of that emotional exploit. It was almost like Norberto had never existed in the first place, and was simply the fantasy of a sad, lonely knight in training.

Though a small part of him, a nearly invisible one that somehow still clung on to the hope of his friend’s return, wondered back to how close Rodrigo and his son had been. There was no one who loved Norberto more than his father. Hendrik was witness to that truth, even envious of it. To think that the seemingly unshakeable love they shared had lost it’s enchantment only disillusioned Hendrik further and pushed him to a deep depression. Sometimes, he wept for Rodrigo, more often than Hendrik wept for himself. It reminded him of the blinding pain of having lost his own family. Now all alone was the strongest man he had ever laid eyes on, without his wife, and without his son whom he thought the entire world of. That pain must have been intolerable. Despite that, Hendrik could not will himself to reach out to Rodrigo, too afraid of having failed him.

More years came and went, and the passage of time dulled the once constant ache in his chest. He thought less and less of his exploits in Puerto Valor. Hazy through the eyes of a childhood long since ended, Norberto became but a distant memory in his minds eye. A ghost of his past, reminiscent of Hendrik’s departed family. He tried to move on and, now accomplished and praised across Erdrea for his heroic exploits, threw himself into his work. 

Be that as it may, Hendrik could not quell the urge in his heart that screamed at him that something was missing. He was inexperienced even as he approached his thirties, and wondered if he was at all inclined to the world of romance. 

Hendrik would often stare at pictures of women, risqué magazines tucked under the bed, in his desperation to feel something. He was convinced that his boyhood crush had been an isolated incident, a fluke, that was all. That dreaded incident had not even been based in reality to begin with. It meant nothing to him, and not solely because it had all ended in heartbreak. There were no laws in Heliodor dictating that a man could never be with another man, or two women together, but needless to say Hendrik had still grown up in a society that held certain expectations. That might have been well and good for others but that did not suit him. What did it matter if every man was beautiful? To be with a woman, yes, that was what felt right. 

And yet that was a door he had yet to open. He was always too busy, no courtship could come at the right opportunity, the only marriage he had was to his work. Were Hendrik to finally be honest with himself, he would have realized sooner that the prospect of at last sharing his heart with a woman instilled more fear in him than any monster ever could. Fearful he was indeed, and so very naïve. 

Being, at that time, an unanticipated public figure following his promotion to general, he was expected to attend banquets where there was of course drinking, socializing, dancing, and everything else that Hendrik hated with all of the sullen passion he could muster. By refusing any hand extended his way, and likewise never asking any fine lady there to dance, Hendrik quickly grew a reputation for being glooming and toneless. 

It was a striking parallel to his friend, the coquettish Jasper, who had the silver tongue, charm, and all of the self assuredness that Hendrik lacked. Yes, despite his lower rank (only temporary, mind you) and that accursed mean streak, Jasper had been very popular at all of their shared social gatherings. Besotted by many, he danced with men and woman alike, and reserved their affections openly. Though he rarely appeared to return them in kind, which bespoke of something amiss that Hendrik had himself been too occupied to ever pay heed to. 

There were nights where the two of them would be alone together in one of their bed chambers, drunk off of Gondolian fine wines. There, Hendrik could at last feel relief after evenings filled with self-satisfied nobles. Jasper would undue his long hair, busying himself with brushing it and retrieving the wine-cork from out of his nose while Hendrik lied his head down on the other man’s lap. Fuddled, Hendrik would hum an old Drustian folk song as he tried to battle away tiredness. Those times were good for his soul, but they were fleeting. Hendrik began to see less and less of his oldest friend. Eventually, Jasper stopped attending banquets all together.

———

In time, Hendrik’s priorities shifted greatly. Once someone longing for fatherly affection, he suddenly found himself responsible for a young charge by no intentions of his own. The King’s orders had changed from one to another. The Luminary, or Eleven as he insisted Hendrik call him, went from one who should be hunted down to one he swore to protect above all else.

Maybe it was presumptuous to assume one self important enough to be the protector of the Luminary, but Hendrik only doubled down on his protectiveness as he got to know the young man further, especially when he learned that Eleven had, like him, grown up without his father. Eleven himself had never given any indication that he felt something lacking, not in any of their long camp-side talks when it had been just the two of them. Though surely quelling the restless spirit of his own father, the king of Dundrasil, stirred in him desires he never knew or wished to have. It was something Hendrik could relate to all too well, so he wished to protect his charge from that certain pain by providing what he himself lacked during his young adulthood. Eleven was but sixteen, only a few years younger than Hendrik had been before things had… changed.

His thoughts wandered back to the king of Heliodor. 

Hendrik had been dangerously unaware of his exalted king's change in countenance, too easily pulled in toward Mordegon’s deceitful ways by his own insecurities and damnable hopes for _love_ and _approval_. When he had been promoted to general at the age of twenty and one for his supposed heroism demonstrated during the hardships imposed on Dundrasil, Hendrik had been none the wiser and instead soaked in Carnelian’s praise. Instead, he should have questioned why his master had suddenly become so eager to give it to him. It could hardly be helped, not after a lifetime of setting his heart on such a gift. Carnelian had never not been unloving, Hendrik had known that even as an orphaned, crying child, but he had been utterly blind to how extreme his desires had become. It was a divisive force none the less, one spurred onward to drive a wedge between Hendrik and his closest friend. He had been an utter fool. In time and with a little push, he eventually realized the truth, but in the aftermath, Hendrik was now left with a strained relationship with his father that would perhaps take another near twenty years to fix.

With looking for someone to blame, Hendrik could do no more than point a finger at himself. If he had not been so broken, so eager to please and obsessed with fulfilling his duties blindly, then perhaps much of his mistakes could have been prevented. 

At the time, during that off center period where he was no longer a fumbling trainee but not quite the decorated knight he surfaced to be, Hendrik believed that praise and adulation was at least one thing he deserved. For all of his hard work, his years of training and devote following, would it not be fair to say it had been well earned? Surely, he could not fraternize with the nobles or dance, but the one thing Hendrik was good at was swinging an axe and killing things, and people were sure to notice. Was he not entitled to a little bit of happiness? It had all been a lie, sure, but it had made Hendrik occupied in the delirium, for the meanwhile. Now, he realized it had all been worth nothing. Worse than nothing even, for he felt that he had sold his very soul to the darkness all for a blind chance at affection.

He was unsure of what remained of the relationship he shared with Carnelian; after all, how much of it had been a farce set by Mordegon? But when his liege placed a hand on his shoulder and called him son, he could not help but become overwhelmed with tears, even as Eleven and his mother stood nearby. An innate desire at last fulfilled in that pressing void in heart. And Hendrik started to think that with enough time, be could truly have an interconnection with the king he so longed for. 

But that would have to wait, until the chance at last came, as now Hendrik had more pressing matters to deal with. Seizing the abandoned castle had been the last order Hendrik had ever taken, and the knight would not take another, never again. That realization could not have been more freeing.

———

Becoming the Luminary’s sworn sword, shield, and unswerving companion presented its own unique set of challenges, among them being his… eclectic group of friends. Indeed, Eleven certainly kept strange company. Though he supposed if that were true, then Hendrik was perhaps the strangest of them all.

Among them, to his endless consternation and horror, was none other than his dear Norberto. 

Meeting Sylvando (as he now insisted on being called) would have been an already upsetting enough occurrence by itself, were they mercifully complete strangers, but the boy he once so cherished was at the time completely unrecognizable. Hendrik would have been none the wiser had Sylvando never mentioned going to visit his father in Puerto Valor. Until then, Hendrik had simply not been able to put two and two together. Worst of all, Sylvando seemed to make a game out of his total ignorance, instead happily busying himself in playing the role of stranger and parade leader, and had only lightly teased him once Hendrik had found out before marching away. No explanation, no apologies, no recollection of their time together at all. 

“So, you finally figured it out? Same old stone headed Hendrik,” Sylvando batted his eyelids behind a flurry of feathers, “Such a sweet, simple boy.”

Maybe it had all been for the better. Twenty years apart had changed him; he had since cut his hair short, and delicate features long since matured with the onset of adulthood. He bore the same fine, dark eyes, though they hid a little more wisdom behind them. The fact was actually a bit irksome. It was like Sylvando always knew something others did not, but Hendrik could never place exactly what that was. Always one step ahead, not unlike during their time in training. And were he not insistent on being angry and disagreeable Hendrik would have considered this Sylvando person to be quite fair, handsome even. That small (and negligible) fact however took a backseat to his poorly hidden frustrations.

There was also the important matter of the fact that this Sylvando, the prodigy formerly known as Norberto, was now completely and utterly insane. 

That could have been tolerable, perhaps, were it not for their shared past. Sylvando never made reference of their history, not unless it was to poke fun at how clumsy Hendrik had been as a child. Instead, he was far too occupied and insistent on acting like a fool himself. Parading around Erdrea in a ridiculous feathered ensemble with the world as it was; in Hendrik’s mind it was a complete disownment and mockery of his proud lineage. If Rodrigo somehow knew what had become of his son, what would he have thought! And what of the request he asked of Hendrik so long ago, to keep his son grounded? He hoped for his teachers sake that he knew nothing of it, for surely he too would have disapproved. It was a disgrace. 

Until then, Hendrik was none too content not knowing what caused such a shift. What had taken Norberto and in turn gave the world Sylvando? The unanswered questions pounded at the back of his skull, ready to at once burst forth.

He ventured forth to find answers, hesitant though he was, one night a top the summit of Mount Pang Lai. But unfortunately for his current predicament Hendrik had never learned to value the concept of tact when it came to any type of conversation. Not to mention Sylvando had found a way to vex him by simply existing. It was a dangerous combination and a doomed prospect from the very start. 

It had been the first time they were alone, just the two of them, with Eleven having ventured forth into parts unknown where neither of his guardians could follow. That was a quality Hendrik and Sylvando somehow shared, despite all odds; that sense of protectiveness toward their charge. When reunited with the young Luminary, it was blatant how much Sylvando adored him. He cared for the boy in such a way akin to an older brother, or even a father. That knightly radiance, his daunting charisma, and prowess with a sword all seemed to rise from the ashes whenever it came to Eleven. 

Now, the boy’s head rested on Hendrik’s blue tunic, folded underneath him to serve as a makeshift pillow. They were surrounded by a hastily built encampment, a small fire roared between the three of them. Anxiety riddled through Hendrik knowing that Eleven’s body remained with them, here, appearing to any unknowing eye as innocently asleep, yet only to have his very soul lurking elsewhere. He did not know if the young boy could feel the biting cold of the night, wherever he was, but providing at least one small comfort eased his overbearing sense of dread and helplessness. It was more for Hendrik’s own sake than that of Eleven.

The first mistake was when Sylvando inquired of his wardrobe, that accursed yellow sweater that was now on full display with the repurposing of his tunic. 

“I can’t believe it, you still have that ugly old thing after all of these years?” he asked seemingly out of nowhere, breaking the heavy and determined silence between them. “Really, I think my heart just got three sizes bigger! I’m touched, _cariño_.”

That was a name Hendrik had not been called in decades, and he was resolved to never again hear it. A dreaded sullenness arose in him, and he gave a brusque reply to make his irritable mood known, “When that wretch Jasper seized the castle in Heliodor, he gave priority in setting fire to every earthly possession I once owned. Alas this sweater was previously hidden in a cupboard, one that not even he knew of, never again to see the light of day. Until of course, it was all that was left.”

“Well, that was awfully nice of dear old Jasper,” Sylvando said plainly, after giving an impressed whistle. His eyes scanned over Hendrik, soaking in the muscles that stretched out the fabric, and he continued, “It looks a little small on you now.”

“I do not wish to speak further on the matter, nor any other so long as it is with you,” Hendrik replied.

“That’s fine by me, darling. Say no more!” Sylvando said contently. He seemed completely unbothered by Hendrik’s dismissal, and sat relaxed by the warm fire like a satisfied, sleepy sabrecat. He waited…

A few peaceful seconds rolled by before Hendrik snapped. He wanted nothing more than to live by his vow of silence, but he was completely unprepared to allow Sylvando the last word. It was a battle nonexistent in anyone’s head but his own, but he at once rolled up his sleeve to leave his heart prostrate.

“You left Puerto Valor without even telling me,” Hendrik began, an obvious pain laden in his words as his expression became one of an untouched sadness, “You could have sent a letter, a note, anything, but your silence spoke measures beyond what mere words ever could. Did it all mean nothing to you?” 

“Of course it wasn’t nothing, _cariño_ … but I left home when I was only sixteen. I had no idea what I was doing! I never meant to…” Sylvando looked more serious than Hendrik had ever seen him, before a mirthful twinkle overtook his gaze, and he instead replied, “Wait a second, I thought you just said that you didn’t want to talk to me?”

“I do not!” Hendrik lied through his teeth. “Merely I thought it gracious to tell you the reason _why_ I do not wish to speak with you.”

“Oh, of course, of course,” the mincing jester nodded, appearing appeased with that petulant explanation. “Here I was thinking we could cuddle and talk about our feelings… just like the good old days. Though that does make me wonder, do you still need to sleep with a night light?”

“This discussion will bring us nowhere.”

“And _that_ is because you’ve always been _un pollito_! So afraid and ashamed of your own emotions! I guess some things never change, you chicken.”

“You are a fine one to talk!” Hendrik groaned in annoyance. “And as insufferable as the day we met! Once this affair is done with I never want to see you again in my life!” 

“Indeed, Sir Hendrik!” Sylvando’s voice deepened with a theatrical flair as he imitated the melodrama of the other man’s speech, “Should another twenty years pass before I see you again, that would be too soon yet! Oooh, I’m so brooding!”

Their arguing had resorted to childish prodding, and nearing his wit's end Hendrik wanted to rip out his hair in frustration. “I do _not_ sound like that!” he complained, exasperated.

“No, no, _lo siento_. What I meant was,” Sylvando cleared his throat and began to cluck like a chicken, “ _Bock, bock_!”

Hendrik leaned away as Sylvando started to flap his arms, which came coincidentally very close to smacking the knight straight in the face. He never would have believed there had been a time where he harbored any affection for this depraved man, for all he felt that night was absolute contempt.

“You are a menace! If you wish for the world to laugh at you then so be it, but I will take no part in your charade!” He stood immediately and sulked to the other side of their camp, which, granted, was only a few feet away from where he had been. “I bid you good night!”

Sylvando turned onto his back and waved Hendrik away. “ _Buenas noches cariño_. Do me a favor and try not to have any scary dreams, eh? I don’t want your screams to wake up our baby before he finds his __abuelito_.”_

Luckily, when Eleven and Rab returned to them that morning, they were both none the wiser. The sounds of their arguing had been lost to all but the wind. 

__

_———_

That had been months ago, and though Sylvando and Hendrik had learned to make the best out of their reluctant toleration of one another, nothing could truly bring the two of them together throughout the course of their so called adventure. Not even the gentle insistence from Eleven or the more lurid scolding by Rodrigo about how _caballeros_ should always stick together, and if Hendrik and Sylvando refused to get along it would only be a matter of time until he beat them both senseless. Charming though the Don still was even in his older age, his counsel proved ineffective. Hendrik was fortunate that Rodrigo never had the opportunity to pull Jade aside and confide to her his mission, as although he would never admit to it, his princess struck much more fear in him than his old teacher ever could. Even then, it was a useless endeavor.

Suffice to say that Hendrik and Sylvando did not strike up the courage to speak to one another in any matter regarding their lost feelings, until their party found itself in Arboria and all distractions had been quelled. There was no more darkness to be vanquished, only a heavy awkwardness in the air. 

Eleven and Serena were half-heartedly dancing in place, with their energy solely dedicated to excitedly discussing plans to write and illustrate a book together detailing their endeavors. Erik was of course loyally to the side of his dearest friend, only sparing furtive glances every other way as he pretended to take no part in their merriment. The two reeled the other boy into their conversation, only to soon find themselves hollering in half-drunken shock when Erik confided to them in hushed tones that he could barely read anything beyond a map. Serena remarked how that would never do, as reading was the greatest joy life could give, and if he never learned then Erik would not be able to read their book once it was published. 

Immediately, Eleven began to drag him away to the inn for an impromptu reading lesson. Nothing could quiet their enthusiasm, and even as Erik complained that there was no reason to read something he had been there for, he still was a willing participant in the end. All embarrassed smiles, completely erasing for the night his tough, lone wolf persona. Hendrik doubted very much that the book would ever see publication… Serena was far too sleepy of a girl to finish a writing project of all things, and not once during their travels had Eleven ever mentioned taking up the paintbrush. And Erik was well… he was certainly Erik. But it was nice to see the children happy for once, they deserved at least that much.

From that point onward the rest of their party, Lord Robert and Princess Jade included, were nowhere to be found, leaving only Hendrik and Sylvando gathered at the middle of the city… alone. It was almost too convenient. 

Always far more courageous than Hendrik had ever been, Sylvando was the first to speak. He pulled the former knight away by his arm, still in that accursed yellow sweater, and led him away to somewhere… less open. 

“Not to interrupt the fun evening you’ve been having, but I think it’s time the two of us had a nice little chat. Wouldn’t you agree, my dear?” 

Hendrik _was_ inclined to agree with that statement, but again, a fear rose up in the pit of his stomach at the prospect. There, it swelled from his stomach down to every single one of his limbs, leaving Hendrik feeling weightless and heavy at the same time. If their last conversation was anything to go by, their chat would be far more than a _little_ one. But Hendrik steeled himself; there was nowhere else to run now. 

A pause hung in the air, before Hendrik spoke. 

“Sylvando…” It was perhaps the first time Hendrik had ever addressed him by that name, at least so openly, forgoing the name _Norberto_ once and for all. “There is but… another reason I find myself so morose in your company,” Hendrik started, only to be interrupted by a quip from his old friend. 

“You?” Sylvando laughed at the other’s ever constant inability to mince words. “Morose? My knight in smiling armor, I could never imagine such a thing.”

“A thought plagues me,” Hendrik explained, “That night at the circus, you mentioned a dream. Did it ever come true?” 

Whenever Sylvando smiled, it was genuine, beautiful. There was a light that shone upon his face even in the dark, and the twinkle in his eye was enough to set the entire sky on fire. He beamed at Hendrik, curiously, and the other man felt weightless again. So very similar to a question he had been asked before, so many years ago, but more than enough time had passed since then. It deserved an answer, as long overdue as it was. 

“I always wanted to spread smiles, just like my dear, sweet mama who came before me. _That_ was my dream… and eventually I knew that could never happen if I stayed on the path put out before me. 

“I didn’t know who I was back then, and wouldn’t for a long while yet. I only knew what I wanted to do for others. I was Norberto, but who was Norberto in the first place, really? He was just a stupid little boy, with his head full of wild thoughts and dreams. He wasn’t as stupid as Sylvando, of course, but stupid all the same. I didn’t know it yet, but leaving home was the first thing I ever did just for myself… weird, _verdad_? Is it selfish to want to make others smile? _Bendito_ , you should have seen how upset papi was when I told him where I was going! But I don’t blame him; he tried his best... Joining the circus! What a silly little boy! I’ll admit… it was a crazy dream. 

“But papi understood what I wanted before I did! To think I was so scared of facing him for all of those years… To have his love still, even after so much time passed, that really makes me so happy.” 

As Hendrik listened to Sylvando, he did not think it strange at all. Rather, there was a keen yet tragic sense of familiarity. And he thought back to how confusing his own childhood had been. He could remember all too well that sense of envy, disgust, and frustration at seeing such a perfect, glowing young boy in his presence. With a halo, he used to tell himself, with a matching pair of wings only Hendrik could see. It had made him so angry, but he had fallen in love with him all the same. Norberto had, back then, seemed so perfect. No; not seemed, to Hendrik he had been perfect, no faults to speak of. Such a gesture had been meant out of love and adoration, one carried by a naïve boy who was far too shy to speak upon it, but he could see now the error of his ways. How unfair he had been to his beloved friend. Would it not seem so cruel or untoward, Hendrik might have laughed at the irony. 

Sylvando had been just like him. He had been afraid, too afraid to love himself, but somehow he had loved Hendrik despite that. And Hendrik had loved him in kind… but that did now beg the question. Hendrik had never given his heart away, not to anyone but Sylvando, but did the object of his affection still hold onto that love? As grand and blossoming as Sylvando’s heart was and always would be; was there still room for him? 

“Listen to me prattle on… I don’t know if my dream will ever come true, but saving the world and defeating the big baddie is worth a few smiles here and there, isn’t it?” Sylvando looked up at him. “I think it’s a good compromise, no?” 

He did not await any sort of answer, and instead told Hendrik, “I fell in love with you, back then. But I knew I couldn’t say it, not while I was still pretending to be Norberto. _Te amo tanto_ … but I just… I’m so sorry, Hendrik. I’m sorry I hurt you before I understood who I was.” 

Hendrik startled a little. For someone normally so loud and disagreeable, his voice could suddenly barely project past his throat, “I…” 

His friend interrupted him, shushing Hendrik with a finger boldly placed upon his lips. 

But Hendrik refused to quiet, and instead moved Sylvando’s arms to his sides and kissed him deeply, fully on the mouth. His large hands rested above the other’s ears, stroking his cheeks while his lips opened up like a flower, caressing the other. It was awkward, tense, and there was the faint smell of ale and sweat upon him in having Sylvando’s face so close to his. A confirmation of Hendrik’s affections came again as his dear friend kissed him back impassioned. Sylvando pulled Hendrik closer to him, arms trailing along the tight fabric against his biceps, and he could feel his own heart beating against their pressed ribcages. 

When Hendrik pulled away, red faced, he managed to muster enough courage to look down at Sylvando. 

“Oh…” Sylvando began, for once in his life speechless. “Oh!” He repeated, with a little more understanding. It was as true as ever… Hendrik preferred to let his actions speak for him, but he doubted very much that even Sylvando had anticipated whatever that was. 

“Allow me to explain,” Hendrik blushed deeper, and deeper still in his lack of composure nervously licked at his lower lip. 

“I don’t think that needs an explanation, _cariño_.” 

“But I beg you to concede to one, for I fear my being so unforthcoming towards you has given way to a suppression that I can no longer bear.” 

He continued, and plainly said, “I have always loved you, from the very moment I first laid eyes on you.”

Sylvando laughed, a hidden joy behind his gaze. “The very moment, he says! When I shoved you to the ground and made a fool out of you? That moment?” 

“The very same. And a fool I have been ever since,” Hendrik remarked. “My heart fell on it’s knees in front of you on that training ground. But I left you and years later, wrote a letter to my father. In its contents I told him of a boy named Norberto, that I had fallen verily in love with him. I feared that everyone else would fall in love with him too, before I could admit to him the full extent of my emotions. You seem to have that effect on people. Not just Norberto, I speak of Sylvando as well. You both possess my love, and you always shall.”

“Oh _cariño_ , you have no idea how happy it makes me to hear that!” Sylvando breathed a mix between laughter and a desperate sigh of relief. “Now that I finally have you, I’m afraid I can’t let you out of my sight ever again! Which reminds me, there was another dream I had; a promise made to me by a boy from Zwaardsrust.” 

Hendrik nervously pulled at his collar, for he remembered that promise all too well but was loathsome to admit it even past the elation of having his feelings at last returned. After all, Hendrik did not like to dance. 

“And the boy? What did he promise you?” 

“It was nothing important, I don’t think,” His love played coy and fanned at his face with a hand, but eventually admitted, “Just something about a dance. So, Henrikito, I hope you’re ready to make good on it.” 

Sylvando sure knew how to keep a man waiting… regardless, Hendrik no longer minded the delay. He would wait another twenty years if necessary, and another twenty years after that, until he was frail and all of the lavender had faded from his hair. 

However, a dash of hesitance crossed his face. There was still one pressing matter which Hendrik had to confront forthrightly. 

“I am afraid that dancing is an art that still evades me. Were people to see me fumbling so…” His cheeks reddened, “I do not want to garner their attention.” 

“You have my attention,” Sylvando smiled, his arms already at Hendrik’s sides, as he began to lead him in a dance, “And you have my love.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JAJAJAJA THEY’RE IN LOVE!! What if Hendrik and Sylvando held hands and danced tenderly in the moonlight. 😙💕 I’m afraid something feral has been awakened in me so I am planning more Sylvendrik for the future. Hopefully that is something people will look forward to lol. 💞
> 
> I am too lazy to write translation notes this time, but I don’t think it’s really needed. 
> 
> I’m a tad fearful my endings are always too abrupt so this also might get an epilogue too someday idk. I want domestic Sylv and Henny. But for now it is considered finished! uwu
> 
> As always, you can find me on twitter @cherryxmelo

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, I would love to hear your thoughts and would very much appreciate a lil kudo or comment. uwu As always, you can find me on twitter @ cherryxmelo. 💖💕


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